Runners
by Peaceful Poison
Summary: Twitch is a deadly, cyberware enhanced sociopath. Menniker is a religious, alcoholic rigger. These are their adventures.
1. Meet the Runners!

It was so late it was early. A silent figure swept across the Detroit skyline like a mercury silhouette. Twenty-five stories down, a couple of two-bit thugs were hard at work jacking an Enzo. The shadow dropped from the sky. It landed silently in the shadows at the end of the alley. The muffled conversation of the thugs echoed through the alley.

Moments later, their screams didn't have time to.

A peculiar grinding sound filled the ensuing silence. The figure emerged from the shadows. He wasn't very imposing, not at first glance. He was slight of frame and barely five feet tall. He was clad in a now blood-spattered pair of leather overalls and a t-shirt bearing the insignia of a cartoon-style skull. He had messy blonde hair that nearly covered a pair of unblinking electric blue eyes. Pointed elf ears peeked out of his hair on either side of his head. He was handsome in a wild sort of way - on that half of his face. Where he should have had a mouth, he had a horrific set of mechanical mandibles. Behind those mandibles was a hole surround by minuscule serrated blades. His arms were mechanical, and had three large claws emerging from each wrist. The claws were razor-sharp, coated with diamond, and then coated again with cyanide. Two submachine guns hung loosely from his waist and an automatic shotgun was strapped to his back. He began quivering from caffeine withdrawal and sprinted at lightning speed out of the alley and down the street to where his stash was located. His name was Twitch, and he was the deadliest anti-hero of his time. Most people just didn't know it yet

Waiting down the street was another elf. He wore a trench coat that was several sizes too big, strapped to his bony body with a variety of belts. His right arm was cybernetic: inside was a remote rigging system. His central CPU was housed in his own brain, and wires snaked in and out of his shock of white hair. He pushed his spectacles up over his greenish eyes. A tiny, spider-like security drone was perched on his shoulder, gleaming in the moonlight. Shelob, he called it. He was leaning against a large RV. It was a slow vehicle, but it served its purpose. You couldn't hold low speed against a vehicle that was layered in three coats of armor and housed a minigun, two roto-drones, two anti-personnel doberman drones, and several months' worth of energy drinks and cheap beer. His name was Menniker, and he was the wheelman and field support for the deadliest anti-hero of his time. He had known that for quite a while.

Right on cue, Twitch sped down the street. He was nothing more than a ripple in the air, as he seemed to have compulsively cloaked himself in his degrading state of mind. Menniker was used to this sort of thing. He hid at the front of his RV and willed the back open, simultaneously issuing commands to the doberman drones to open fire at will. Twitch took several hundred explosive rounds before he finally skidded to a halt. He still managed to slam into the RV, throwing Menniker a couple of yards back. By the time he regained both consciousness and his footing, it was almost dawn and Twitch was working on his third case of Bawls. The two got into their usual seats and Menniker took manual control over the RV. He liked it better that way. As they slowly moved down the street, Twitch opened the glove compartment and removed their secret money box. He opened it and began counting their funds.

"Menniker." said Twitch in his mechanical voice, "Did-you-know-that-we-have-enough-money-for-breakfast-and-nothing-else?"

"What?" exclaimed Menniker, "What happened to the money from that heist we stopped and then finished last week? That had to be at least ten thousand nuyen!"

"It-was-thiry-two-thousand-nuyen-give-or-take." replied Twitch. "I-put-it-into-my-motorcycle-fund."

"...you're buying a motorcycle?" inquired Menniker in total disbelief. "With our money? Listen...motormouth...I have a week's worth of hangovers, you probably threw my back out, I wasted a ton of ammo trying to stop you from doing it in the first place, and I have to pee! And now you're telling me that you took not only your share of our money, but mine too, all to put it into some 'fund' for a motorcycle that you haven't even told me about until now?"

"Um...yes."

"Why didn't you tell me? I could've jacked you one or something! For Christ's sake, Twitch! Think about these things!"

"I-want-a-brand-new-one." stated Twitch. Menniker started to say something, threw up a little in his mouth, and settled on flipping Twitch off.

Down the street, a flash of red and blue lit up the facade of a bank. Gunshots cracked through the air. The two cohorts turned toward each other and smiled...or Menniker did, at least. The RV's back flew open. The roto-drones flew out and rained grenades onto the firefight. The dobermans rolled into the open, firing explosive rounds. Then, in the carnage, a distortion in the air dashed into the crossfire, taking bullets shot in confusion. Then, Twitch shut off his cloaking field, guns pointed in both directions, and fired.


	2. Crossfire

Twitch stopped directly in the middle of the crossfire between the police and the would-be bank robbers, a mere silhouette amongst the flames and smoke from the initial drone attack. He drew his SMGs and pointed them in either direction, aiming at both sides. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The gunshots ceased, and the only sound to be heard was the gentle hum of the overhead roto-drones.

"Okay-listen-up." said Twitch in an amplified version of his monotonous, mechanical voice. "We-are-not-friends. We-are-going-to-kill-you-all-take-the-money-and-run. You-cannot-stop-us. I-have-given-you-the-opportunity-to-leave-with-your-lives-now. I-suggest-you-take-it."

No one did.

Both sides immediately opened fire, both upon each other and Twitch. Menniker gave to order to his drones to attack. The roto-drones dropped several grenades again upon each side, ravaging nearby buildings and demolishing cars. The explosions either killed or scattered the robbers and police. Those who escaped to either side of the street were either gunned down by the doberman drones or by the 90mm turret on Menniker's RV. Those who remained in the center found themselves at the mercy of Twitch and his poisoned claws. He leaped from opponent to opponent with the grace of a supernatural acrobat, dodging bullets and severing limbs and heads with his dance of death. One particular opponent actually managed to get a straight shot with a sawed-off shotgun directly into Twitch's face. He flinched a bit and, as a gift in tribute to the thug's ability, clubbed them in the back of the head rather than killing them outright.

The carnage continued for nearly half an hour. After the smoke and fire cleared, Twitch and Menniker walked through the bodies, searching them and relieving them of their valuables and wallets. Twitch salvaged what ammo he could, and Menniker collected weapons to sell on the black market. They were busy stuffing money back into the robbers' bag when a soft groan drew their attention. The lucky jerk that Twitch had knocked out was coming to. The two walked over to him.

"What should we do?" asked Menniker.

"We-should-let-him-go. He-is-an-excellent-gunman. Who-are-we-to-destroy-a-work-of-art?" reasoned Twitch.

"Can we at least search him before he wakes up?" Menniker begged.

"My-thoughts-exactly-man." replied Twitch.

They began a search of the well-armored thug. Menniker was patting him down searching for any hidden valuables, when his hands ran across something quite unexpected.

"Uh...Twitch? This guy's...not a guy."

"What?"

"The thug you knocked out...he has boobs." said Menniker, blushing intensely.

"Oh. Well-get-your-hands-off-of-them-at-least-you-pervert." admonished Twitch.

"Right...sorry." Menniker apologized to the unconscious girl, pulling his hands away so quickly that he fell over. Twitch helped him to his feet and sent him to the RV. Menniker said some prayers for the dead.

"...bless them in Heaven, Lord, for they knew not what they were doing. And please forgive my...uh...trespass. Amen."

"Kyrie-eleison." mocked Twitch as he took his seat and threw a large bundle into the back.

"What is that?" asked Menniker.

"A-work-of-art." replied Twitch.


	3. A Work of Art

Twitch and Menniker arrived at their favorite deli, where a news story was covering the "cold-blooded murder" of a large gang and a small squadron of police.

"Police are investigating the fourth in a string of what they call 'The Gangland Massacres.' The bodies seem to have had all of their money and valuables stolen, and autopsies show that, as with the other slaughters, they were either shot to death or dismembered. Traces of cyanide have been found laced among the bodies, and investigators are trying to decide whether this is a murder weapon or a kind of signature of this new killer." the TV reporter read off of the teleprompter.

"It-is-both." Twitch responded.

"You boys causin' more havoc again?" asked Bridget, their waitress and friend, with a heavy Irish accent.

"Just enough to raise a few nuyen. We got a pretty good haul today, and Twitch says he found some valuable artwork." said Menniker over his coffee.

"Artwork, Twitch? Did the robbers steal it beforehand or somethin'?" Bridget asked.

"Um…they-had-it-with-them-at-least." Twitch replied.

The three held conversation and traded a few good-natured insults, and then the runners paid and left. As they drove to their hideout, there was an odd noise from the back of the RV.

"What is that?" asked Menniker.

"I-haven't-the-foggiest-chap." Twitch said, making a failed attempt at sarcasm. A scream startled them both.

"Where am I? What's going on? Who are you? Why am I naked?" screamed a new voice from the back. Menniker slowly turned his head toward Twitch.

"I hate you, you know that?"

Twitch simply stood up and went to the back. The girl from the shootout had finally woken up. As Twitch had said, she was a work of art. She had smooth, tannish skin and red hair tied up in a bunch of ponytails that hung shoulder-length from her head. She had brown, exotic eyes. She was currently wrapped in the sheet she had been previously bundled in, and looked like something Da Vinci would have painted.

"Settle-down-I-brought-you-coffee." Twitch said, and tried to smile with his monstrous metal mandibles. The girl screamed louder.


	4. Renraku Intervenes?

By the time the runners had reached their hideout, the girl had settled down. She finished her coffee, and Twitch gave her some extra clothes to wear. She said her name was Raille.

"Just-Raille?" asked Twitch. "No-last-name?"

"No." she replied, very sternly.

They arrived at their hideout: a cathedral in the suburbs.

"Hold on..."started Raille,"You guys kill people for money, yet you hide out in a church?"

"A couple of things, babe." Menniker replied, "First of all, we don't kill for money. We kill for a great deal of money. Second of all, it's my dad's church, so we stay for free."

"Your dad?"

"He's a priest."

"And he doesn't care what you do?"

"Nope."

They walked through a side entrance and into the sanctuary. Twitch stretched out on a pew with a bottle of Bawls in hand.

"There's-one-thing-that's-bugging-me-Raille." he said. "Actually-a-couple-of-things-but-we'll-cross-those-bridges-when-we-come-to-them. Right-now-I-just-want-to-know-how-you-managed-to-hit-me. It-wasn't-luck."

"I mimicked your actions, Twitch." she turned around and parted her hair to reveal a chip at the base of her skull. "You've heard of reflex recorders, right? Cyberware that let you store actions you've seen into your muscle memory. This is a prototype advancement of that. I can basically be a mirror image of anyone. I just used your own acrobatics against you."

"How did an anonymous thug like you get prototype cyberware?" asked Menniker.

"That's none of-" she began, but Twitch cut her off.

"I-think-this-should-explain-a-bit." he said, as he tore off a section on the back of her shirt. On her right upper back was a tattoo of the symbol of the computer and arms company Renraku.

"What-do-you-have-to-say-for-yourself?" asked Twitch, leveling his poisoned claw to her throat.

Just outside, three figures, two very large, and the other rather small, approached the main doors to the sanctuary.


	5. Yeah, Renraku Intervenes

The double doors to the cathedral blew open with the force of a small bomb. In walked the strangest crew that Twitch and Menniker had ever seen. Raille was not at all surprised, as she had not only seen them many times before, but was expecting them as well.

There were three of them. At the fore stood a female dwarf, tall for her race, and nearly eye level with Twitch. She had on baggy desert camo pants, a white tanktop, and several U-belts well stocked with grenades and various other forms of heavy weaponry, including what looked like a collapsible turret on her back. Her vibrant red hair was cut rather short, framing a face that fell somewhere in between matronly and boyish. Had it not been for her rather well endowed form, assessing her gender would have been difficult.

On her right was an abnormally well-built orc, clad in stereotypical red and black samurai armor. Further accenting his look were two katanas at his hips and a much larger katana on his back. No one was surprised to see that his jet-black hair was done in a topknot. Belying his battle-ready form was an almost serene look on his face.

On the dwarf's left was troll. He was hunched over, with his greasy hair covering his face. His horns protruded from the tangle and curved viciously. He was clad in lots of leather and studs and wore a black cloak accented in spots with red designs. If he had been carrying a guitar (which he normally did, as a matter of fact), he would have been right at home on the cover of a Black Sabbath album.

All three of the intruders had Renraku badges on their chest. They were Renraku mercenaries, no doubt. The three strode purposefully for several feet until anyone spoke.

"Looks like we found ourselves a regular scumbag garage sale," sneered the dwarf in a very nearly Southern drawl.

"…indeed…" agreed the orc. The troll simply nodded.

"It's okay, Vasquez, I'm fine," Raille suddenly said. "Really. I got into some trouble, but these guys have been more than hospitable. I was going to come home in the morning."

"Hospitable, eh?" the dwarf replied, while surveying Raille. "And exactly what kind of hospitably so necessitates a change of clothes?"

"Well, I…" Raille stopped, as she hadn't considered the possibility until now. She turned on Twitch and said, with more than an edge of indignity in her voice, "Just what did you do with my old clothes? Why was it necessary to strip me in the first place?" Menniker made an odd coughing noice that sounded vaguely like he was saying "pervert."

"It's-a-simple-explanation-really," Twitch replied, "I-was-searching-your-back-for-that-tattoo-and-your-outfit-ripped-in-such-a-way-that-would-make-no-difference-whether-you-were-wearing-it-or-not. Don't-worry-I-turned-away." There was something so strangely innocent about Twitch's blushing face that Raille was compelled to believe him.

"In any case, I'm not all that concerned. It's about time you start making use of what you were blessed with anyway. We're just here to make sure you don't have to escape home to do it anymore," interjected Vasquez. Suddenly, the sanctuary shook and a heavy pounding echoed in from the distance.

"What the…" was all the orc could manage to say. The troll cocked his head to one side, listening intently for a sound everyone could hear just fine.

"Oh, that's my dad," Menniker said nonchalantly. "You just had to make a grand entrance and blow down the doors. Now you've gone and pissed him off."


	6. Holy Judgement

The quaking continued until a door right of the altar was flung open. With some difficulty, a monster of a man squeezed his way through it. He was easily around ten feet tall, and his muscles looked almost ready to tear right through his tanned skin. His comically small head was bald on top, but had a very fluffy white beard. He was wearing a sort of sash and a pair of ill-fitting pants, and a priest's collar, but otherwise nothing else. Tattooed on every conceivable surface on his body were Bible scriptures, prayers, and Latin phrases. It was hard to believe he was Menniker's dad, but indeed he was.

"WHO IS DISRESPECTING THE FATHER'S HOUSE?" he bellowed. No one dared answer back. He pulled two full-size miniguns (that is, the kind that should be mounted on aircraft) from under the altar, easily wielding one in each hand. "SOMEONE TELL ME OR I START SHOOTING!"

"um…it was us," Vasquez said, very quietly, her former bossy demeanor thrown to the wind to uphold the virtue of survival. "We'll pay for it. We'll even fix it ourselves!" she pleaded.

"HMMM…NOPE, I THINK I'LL JUST START SHOOTING," replied Menniker's dad, and that's exactly what he did. Menniker grabbed Raille's arm and took cover. Twitch stood, soaking in the ensuing carnage. The three intruders ducked and ran. Vasquez offered a "this won't be the last of us" but her voice was lost in the metallic ring of minigun fire. It didn't stop until well after the three had already gone out the door and were halfway back to headquarters.

"Way to give 'em hell, dad!" shouted Menniker, emerging with Raille from his hiding spot.

"NO, SON," replied his dad, "I GAVE 'EM HEAVEN."

"It-seems-to-me-that-you-have-a-choice," Twitch said to Raille. "You-have-two-options. You-can-side-with-us-and-get-hunted-down-by-those-jerks-or-go-back-home-and-hope-we-don't-decide-to-kill-you-later." Raille frowned at him and took a seat, trying to weigh her options. Hadn't she always wanted to live an exciting life, away from the lap of luxury? Yes, but with a metal psychopath and a priest's drunkard son? Was it worth it?

"Yes," she finally said, more to herself than to the group. "I'm with you. I do have one request, though."

"What?" asked Twitch.

"I have a suit and some knives at home I'd like to get first. May I?"

"Only-if-we-come-with-you."

"Okay," she said. She didn't hesitate or seem disappointed, so Twitch was pretty sure she was sincere.

"Now-tell-us-exactly-who-you-are," said Twitch, "You-obviously-are-very-important-and-have-more-than-a-few-ties-to-Renraku."

Raille sighed. "I'm the daughter of Elsa Royale. She's a top inventor for Renraku's American headquarters. I let them use me as guinea pig," she subconsciously rubbed the base of her neck as she said this, "so they're probably pretty peeved at loosing me."

It all made sense now. The three said their goodbyes to Menniker's dad, and went out to the RV, ready for the trip to Raille's house. None of them noticed the shadowy figure that was sleeping in the back. Also, no one noticed the shadowy figure watching from a nearby rooftop. Not to mention the shadowy figure twenty-three blocks away, thirty stories up, sitting in a wheelchair. No one even gave him a thought.


	7. Bark at the Moon

It was at the gate to the huge mansion that passed for Raille's house that Twitch noticed the twisted bundle in the back of the RV. He had wanted to get some Mountain Dew and tripped over this…thing. He said nothing, but crouched and slowly pushed it over. He was slightly surprised to find that it was alive, and possibly human. It had to be the strangest creature Twitch had ever seen, and being who he was, that was saying a lot. Whoever and whatever it was, they were sickeningly thin, almost beyond emaciated. The person was clad in a filthy overcoat and their hair covered their face in a dull black heap. Every breath they took rattled.

"Hey-you," Twitch said as he kicked it. In an instant, it jumped to its feet with an agility that genuinely surprised Twitch.

"Wot?" it replied in a raspy mumble, wildly scanning its surroundings. "Wot ya wake m' up for?"

"We've-got-a-stowaway!" Twitch yelled, ignoring the thing for the time being. It mumbled something incoherent and collapsed back into its slumber, falling into an awkward and altogether very uncomfortable looking position. Raille came to the back to have a look.

"Aw, poor thing. Let's take it inside and get him…her…it…cleaned and fed! It looks like it hasn't seen a bath or decent food in ages!" She didn't know it, but she was right.

"That's-out-of-the-question," Twitch stated, "we're-not-drawing-attention-to-ourselves-if-at-all-possible-and-we-certainly-don't-need-another-mouth-to-feed. I'm-going-to-boot-this-abomination-to-the-street-and-we'll-be-done-with-it." At this, the thing again jumped to its feet and made a sort of guttural hiss. Through its shaggy locks, Twitch and Raille saw a large mouth lined with sharp yellow teeth. It raised two ghostly pale arms tipped with thick, pointed nails.

"Ain' leavin' m' nowhere!" it exclaimed, before jumping at Twitch with amazing agility. The two tumbled out of the RV and began to fight. Both combatants moved with blazing speed and unmatched finesse. Twitch unsheathed his claws and unleashed a barrage of swipes, which the vicious thing easily avoided with a mercury-like fluidity. It returned the attack so fast that it blurred. Twitch dodged with a nonchalant ease, and then cloaked himself. This left the creature to do what looked like an odd sort of seizure-inspired dance, as it dodged every single strike Twitch made with a supernatural ease.

All of this very much confused and, naturally, intrigued Twitch. The battle went on in this way for several minutes before the two broke briefly. Twitch was almost breaking a sweat, a rare and joyous feeling for him. The creature, whatever it was, said nothing, but cocked its head to one side and made a strange wheezing sound.

"What-are-you?" Twitch asked. The thing made no reply. A vaporous, brilliant energy began snaking its way along its veins. A wind suddenly whipped through the street, taking the thing's hair and giving Twitch the first view of its face. It was the pale, cadaverous face of a malnourished teenage boy. He had several oddities about him that weren't quite right. One eye was yellow with a pinhole of a pupil, while the other had no iris, just the black void of an abnormally large pupil. The veins in his eyes were a deep and very visible red. His mouth was twisted in a very disturbing grin. A single, deep scar trailed from his forehead to his throat, dividing his face in half. The dancing energy highlighted his frame and traveled along his veins, detracting from his body in just such a way that he looked as if he had the ears and tail of a spectral wolf. His nails elongated into vicious claws, and his canine teeth were suddenly much more pronounced. His own personal pack of magic wolves began to mill around his legs. He howled, and he and his pack charged Twitch again, trailing magical energy. Twitch stood frozen in terror, his cybernetic eyes wide. Twitch knew what he was up against. It was the one thing he feared. Menniker, suddenly not feeling so safe inside of his RV, only mouthed the word…"shaman."


	8. Calm Before the Storm

The mysterious shaman and his magical wolves plowed Twitch over like a hurricane. He collapsed to the ground, slashes tinged with magical energy covering his body. The shaman continued the barrage on the prone Twitch, lacerating him from every possible angle. He moved much too fast for Menniker or Raille to help. The shaman then skidded to a halt, his companions disappearing and his magic retreating back into his body. He walked over to where Twitch now lay lifeless in a swelling puddle of his own blood. He turned Twitch over to confirm his kill.

"Not-too-bad," Twitch suddenly said, and thrust his cybernetic fist into the shaman's stomach.

When he finally came to, the shaman was wrapped in duct tape and, inexplicably, bubble wrap. The three runners were standing over him.

"We should kill you," Menniker said, "but Twitch has urged us not to. Instead he insists that we bring you along." The shaman only mumbled his reply.

"Tell us your name," demanded Raille, her former sympathy gone. The shaman looked up, his hair falling from his twisted face, his demented smile still pasted on.

"M' name?" he asked.

"What-people-call-you-when-they-see-you," Twitch replied, maybe sarcastically. The shaman lowered his head again and fell silent. After a few minutes he looked up at the three, his brow furrowed in deep thought, warping strangely around his scar. Finally, his eyes brightened and he squeaked out, with a degree of accomplishment, "Erg!"

"…Are you okay?" Menniker asked.

"Erg!" he replied, "M' name's Erg! P'pul seeses me, I do th' flash thing, they fall down and go, 'erg!'" He said all of this with almost a sense of longing behind his asymmetric eyes.

"Okay, then, Erg. You have two choices. You can join us, or remain bound and eventually die of starvation. What will it be?" said Raille, realizing immediately that starvation was probably an empty threat to this walking skeleton of a boy. Again, Erg went through his complicated process of thinking something over.

"'k. I go with you, no starve, no die," he said. Then he threw off his trappings as easily as if they had wrapped him in tissue paper, and tackled Raille, screaming, "Fren'! I got a fren'!" Raille shoved him off and gagged.

"Okay everyone, let's go inside. We all need to eat, and I think our new dog could use a serious bath."

They all did as commanded and followed Raille into her mother's mansion. The entry hall was humongous. Raille directed the group into the kitchen, and was horrified to witness the Boys, as she had come to call them, immediately begin to eat her out of house and home. She escorted Erg to the shower and was quite surprised to find that he already knew how to use one. She left him to his devices and went to her room. She went to the back of her walk-in closet, opened a secret panel in the wall, and removed what she had come for: her favored black leather suit and her twin gun-knives. She changed, holstered her weapons, and went back downstairs.

The group reunited in the living room, which was the size of a normal house in itself. Twitch had somehow already been cured of his lacerations and was stretched out, watching TV with an energy drink in hand. Menniker was without his coat for the first time since Raille had met him, thus wearing only a tight shirt and some nice slacks. She caught herself staring at his surprisingly hunky frame. Erg was noticeably cleaner. His hair was not a tangled, greasy mess anymore, and instead hung straight and shiny, reaching halfway down his chest. His skin had gained some degree of color, and his teeth gleamed off-white. After a few moments spent in total relaxation, Twitch looked around and said, "Well…should-we-go?"

The group walked outside, and into a massacre.


	9. It Hits the Fan

Anyone nearby had only to close their eyes to pretend nothing was happening. Before the Runners was a scene of horrific and bloody dismemberment, but it was all completely silent. A single group was converging on a single target, who slashed the oppressors to ribbons with the efficiency and accuracy of a machine. No one screamed, or grunted, or even made a footstep. They just died, and not even the splashing of blood on the ground made a noise. Raille stared, petrified. Menniker gagged. Erg squealed with twisted glee. Twitch simply stood silent and still, like a guardian. The last of the doomed figures fell to the ground in pieces. The solitary slaughterer crouched, and did not move for a very long time.

"Oy!" Twitch called. The figure then bolted and literally disappeared down the street.

"Where is he, Twitch?" asked Raille.

"I-do-not-know," Twitch replied. Menniker emptied the contents of his stomach and then turned to Twitch.

"You mean you have x-ray vision and heat vision and sonar vision and God-knows-what vision, but you can't track that guy?" he asked.

"'es not invis-bul," Erg interjected, "'es jus' tha' fast!" he then turned his nose skyward and sniffed a couple of times. "Follow," he said, and took off down the street, running on all fours like an animal, and skidding a bit on the wet blood. Twitch followed, cloaking himself and loosing his claws, just in case. Raille grabbed the still-ill Menniker, slung him over her back, and began bounding across rooftops, keeping the others in sight. Menniker did his best to control his insides, and given the circumstances, he did very well.

"So," began Twitch, easily keeping pace with Erg and deciding to strike up a conversation, "where-are-you-from?"

"Stree'," was Erg's only reply.

"…Is-it-possible-for-you-to-speak-like-a-normal-person?"

"'m not normal!" Erg shot back, with more than a touch of pride.

"I-know-but-can-you-at-least-attempt-to-speak-coherently?"

"Whu's this…co-hee-rint-lee?" Erg asked. Twitch shook his head and decided to stop trying for the time being.

"So…" Raille yelled to Menniker, "how often do you guys do this sort of thing?"

"Too often," he replied. Then something occurred to him.

"My stuff!" he yelled.

"Huh?"

"My RV! My drones! This guy's a world-class killer, and I don't have any of my weapons!" he thought a bit, and then added, "And they're really expensive, too."

Raille stopped on a rooftop, and the two silhouetted perfectly against the crescent moon. He looked down into her eyes, and she into his. They shared a kiss.

"So how about we go back and get it?" she said after they had finished.

"I love you," Menniker said, and they turned and went back the way they came.

Meanwhile, Twitch and Erg, having stopped all forms of communication, were hot on the trail of the death dealer. After spending a long time in complete silence, Twitch finally spoke up.

"Erg," he said, "use-your-powers. We-need-every-possible-advantage." Much to his surprise, Erg complied. His flesh began to glow as the magic flowed through his veins. His speed nearly doubled, and Twitch, drawing and cocking his shotgun, kept pace.

Menniker and Raille arrived back at Raille's house, where the RV was parked outside. They got in and were ready to go when it occurred to Raille that they had completely lost Twitch and Erg.

"What do we do now?" she said.

"Well…" Menniker started, and then realized that there was nothing they could do. Twitch and Erg moved far too fast and were definitely not stopping. "I don't know." He said.

"I suppose we could just wait inside…" Raille said, and the two began leaning toward each other, lips at the ready, when a bullet bounced off of the windshield.

Twitch and Erg followed the trail to the middle of a heavily wooded park area. Erg summoned some wolves to patrol the area. Twitch stood extremely still, looking around. Without so much as a whisper, a tree fell toward Twitch and Erg. They sliced through it easily with their claws and stood face to face with the object of their pursuit, who stared back with unfeeling, orange eyes, holding a katana at the ready. It was clad in a black suit with long, whitish blond hair streaming from the back of a full-face mask. The gauntlet had been thrown, and Twitch and Erg, with a blur of deadly motion, readily accepted it.


	10. More and More

Menniker and Raille looked up to see the rather uninviting forms of a familiar-looking samurai ork and his silent troll partner. They wouldn't quite be able to see her over the dash, but they were certain Vasquez was standing between them. Their suspicions were confirmed when an amplified voice, with a hint of Southern charm, reached their ears.

"We have been given four targets tonight, and we've already got one of them! We're going to take y'all now, and get our money tonight! So you can come quietly and we won't make a fuss, okay?"

"Four?" asked Menniker.

"There's us, and Twitch…and Erg?" Raille replied.

"They can't know about Erg, we met him later…" Menniker replied. "They've got some other poor guy."

"Well, I guess it's up to us to bust him out and run these idiots home."

"Yeah…have fun with that," replied Menniker, getting a sharp glance from Raille as she nearly wrenched the door off of its hinges and stomped out to meet their adversaries. Menniker went into a sort of trance and put his whole mind into Shelob, a trick he'd learned a long time ago for spying purposes. In his new, spidery body, he ran down his arm and out into the street, unnoticed by all. He went to the back of the mercenaries' paddy wagon contraption, and snuck in through the bars in the back door windows. There was indeed a young captive inside, huddled in the corner, wrapped in a blanket and sobbing. Menniker couldn't speak in his current form, so he went in for a closer look. There wasn't much to see. The prisoner was human, but folds of blanket and a head of shiny black hair tinted with red blocked any judgment beyond that. He skittered up the wall and near the prisoner's face for a better look. The prisoner was a girl, and to his surprise, quite cute for a goth kid. She had dark lipstick and her heavy black eyeliner was running down her cheeks from when she had been crying, but she emitted a sort of angelic glow nonetheless. She turned her gaze up and looked Shelob directly in the camera eye.

"You don't have to stare," she said, "I told you I didn't do it. And spider drones don't scare me. I think they're adorable." The soft naiveté in her voice told Menniker that she couldn't have been much into her teenage years…she was 16 at the oldest, and probably younger than that. He let Shelob go into remote and returned to himself. He drew his pistol and put his other drones at the ready. As an afterthought, he adjusted his glasses. He grabbed the door handle and took a deep breath. If Twitch could save a girl because she was a potential ally, he could do it too, dammit.

Meanwhile, Twitch and Erg had made an important discovery: their enemy was not supernaturally quiet, he had some kind of noise jammer, be it a sort of cyberware, a piece of equipment, or, Twitch shuddered to think, a magical talent. However he did it, he was a slick one, sound or no. He had caused Twitch to waste all of his shotgun shells and most of his SMG rounds, and had taken out all but one of Erg's wolves. Between the three of them, they had laid waste to a good patch of nationally protected wilderness. Blow for blow, slice for slice, they were the perfect match. Then Twitch noticed something out of the corner of his eye…he was certain he had seen someone in a wheelchair, but what would they be doing here? He decided to make sure…he didn't want any unnecessary casualties unless he was the sole cause. He was pretty sure that Erg could handle himself, and if not…well, no great loss. Twitch found what he was looking for. Sure enough, there was a wheelchair-bound citizen watching the show. He dashed to their side.

"Hey," he started, "this-is-not-a-spectator's-sport. This-is-dangerous-and-you-should-go-home-now."

The elderly man in the chair didn't move for a long time, which gave Twitch time to observe that he was ancient and rich, and could probably do with much less money than he had. Twitch made a mental note to follow him home. Then the old man spoke at last, in deep, commanding tones that belied his frail frame.

"I know, kid. Beautiful isn't it?"


End file.
